


Coffee Omens

by Owliye



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Slow Burn, gay pining, maybe a slow-to-medium paced burn, more like medium burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owliye/pseuds/Owliye
Summary: Aziraphale was a man on a mission. A mission to flirt with a barista while attempting to not make him uncomfortable. It was a perilous mission, but one Aziraphale was determined to give a go and then abandon at the first sign of difficulty. He was truly the man for the job.Crowley is a gay barista, Aziraphale is a gay book collector. Gay pining ensues.This is very much a work in progress!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfiction that’s not crack, and my first time writing Good Omens fanfiction! I love my gay kids
> 
> Also apologies for my weird writing style and complete lack of characterisation, it’s all out of character from here folks!

Aziraphale awoke with a start at 10:53am on a warm Wednesday morning to the sound of cars and people walking along the street outside his Soho flat, located above his Soho bookshop. While Aziraphale is the sort of name one might expect an angel to have, this Aziraphale was certainly just a regular human being. His first name was Micah, which was all well and good, but didn’t give off the dramatic air a name like Aziraphale gives, which was why he generally went by his surname.

Aziraphale loved the dramatic. He was also partial to books and men in leather jackets. He channelled his love of the dramatic through his membership of an amateur dramatics group and his love of books through his ‘job’ as a rare book seller and collector, but he was yet to find an outlet for his love of men in leather jackets, though he remained eternally hopeful. 

It wasn’t unusual for Aziraphale to wake up at 10:53am or later on Wednesday mornings, after late nights of reading books and drinking wine. However, as he climbed out of bed in his bright flat above his bookshop he read a notice that he had placed on the wall a few days back, which read “Must sell books. Need to pay bills.”. He groaned, with the realisation that he did indeed need to sell books in order to pay his bills and perhaps he could let some of his beloved books go. It was, after all, so he could afford to live which he supposed was quite important, all things considered. He’d simply have to move his most beloved books into the back room of the shop. He pottered over to his bathroom to get ready to start his day and go down to the shop. 

At 10:53am on a warm Wednesday morning, another man in London wearing all black apart from a bright red apron was well awake and being a slightly more responsible independent business owner. If it weren’t for the apron, he’d probably look like a biker or a celebrity magician. However, he did have a bright red apron on and while he appreciated motorbikes, he preferred cars and he hated magic tricks with all of his heart. He had been working since 6am in an independent café that he owned called Holy Cappuccino even though on first impressions, this man did not appear particularly holy. This was because he wasn’t, but he did appreciate the irony. He was a man who enjoyed his vices.

This man’s name was technically Anthony (which one could see by looking at his name tag which was accompanied by a doodle of a snake) but being dramatic like Aziraphale, he tended to go by his surname, Crowley. Crowley stared at a clock on the opposite wall, counting down the minutes until Anathema would come in so he could have some company. The only word that could be used to describe his look was a stare, as if he were furiously willing the time to pass quicker. 

“One tea, nine sugars please laddie.” A familiar voice belonging to an old, white haired man snapped him out of his stare. Crowley smiled, nodded and said, “£1.50. Coming right up.” The old, white haired man was called Shadwell (only God knew if Shadwell had a first name, and God had probably forgotten over the span of Shadwell’s life). The man had an accent which sounded like a mixture of Irish, Scottish and Welsh mixed into one with a bit of West Country sprinkled in for good measure even though such a combination of accents should not be possible. He referred to himself as a Witchfinder Sergeant, but Crowley was damned if he knew where Shadwell got his money from. Witch-finding didn’t seem to be a service that was highly in demand in London these days. However, he paid for his drinks which was good enough for Crowley and he had to admit it was nice to have regulars. He handed over the tea and Shadwell handed over the pieces of small changes before retreating to his normal table. 

After some time standing around, serving Londoners reasonably priced hot drinks and freshly baked pastries (baked by Madame Tracy, Crowley’s business partner and competent baker – Crowley could not bake and refused to learn after the Cookie Disaster of 2017, as Anathema referred to it), Anathema walked through the door. Crowley grinned at her and she gave him a little wave and grinned back as they exchanged greetings. She walked over to the counter, popped into the staff room to put her bag down, and came behind the counter with him. “How’d your date go last night?” She asked. He grimaced. “Not great. It’s like every man I go on a date with just wants to fuck. Sure, I do too but I’m not, you know,” he waved his arms, “a piece of meat. Just a hot piece of ass. I am a hot piece of ass but I have standards.” Anathema chuckled at this. “I demand to be wooed. I want to be taken to a classy restaurant,” “The Ritz?” She asked and he laughed. “There’s no way in hell I can afford that and I’m far too demanding for a sugar daddy. Somewhere classy but affordable. I want to be romanced thoroughly and then a good fuck.” At this point Anathema coughed and turned slightly red, the cough and blush one would have if they worked in a café and there was a customer standing at the counter, waiting to order a hot drink and listening to your boss and close friend describe how he wanted to be wooed. Crowley kept talking, unaware of this. “And on the matter of this fuck.” Crowley continued speaking on this subject for several minutes, outlining what he expected from a would-be lover and the sordid things he would like would-be lover to do to him - Anathema and Crowley, having been friends for a few years often discussed the struggles of dating and since Anathema had recently gotten engaged to a sweet and hopelessly awkward young man, these discussions more often than not ended up with her giving him advice and drunkenly ghost-writing messages to men on dating sites for him. He finished his tirade and looked at Anathema. “Are you alright?” She coughed once again, and looked to her left, looking at a (rather handsome, Crowley thought) white-haired, thirty-ish man with a three-piece tweed suit with a small smile on his angelic face. Oh shit, Crowley thought. Oh shit. 

“One of your hibiscus iced teas, if you wouldn’t mind.” The man asked, before giving a small wink to Crowley. Crowley gaped at him. A few seconds passed and realising that Crowley would be in a state of shock for a while, Anathema smiled at the mystery man and said, “Of course. That’ll be £2.50. Can I take a name?” The man smiled back. “Aziraphale. Absolutely charming place you’ve got here. Ooh, actually, those pastries look rather tempting! I’ll take that one.” Crowley, feeling that he could not embarrass himself any further, walked straight into the door of the staff room, immediately embarrassing himself further, before swearing profusely and managing to get into the staff room and away from the man as quickly as possible. He’d fucked this one up.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale smiled. “I do hope I haven’t embarrassed the poor man!” His smile didn’t quite portray this message. He looked like the cat who had got the cream and then felt rather bad about getting the cream, but had decided to keep it anyway and deal with the guilt. It wasn’t that Aziraphale enjoyed seeing people uncomfortable, it was just that the barista whose name he hadn’t got had looked so sweet at that moment and he’d started having unholy thoughts in Holy Cappuccino. It was a shame, Aziraphale thought, that the man was presumably straight and even if he was interested in men, he didn’t think such a lithe, gorgeous man with cheekbones that one could cut themselves on would take any interest in him. (He had sadly missed the part of the conversation where Crowley had specified he would like a man to woo him). Aziraphale viewed himself as a short, fat man with few redeeming physical features. This wasn’t the case – Aziraphale could not be argued, by any stretch of the imagination, to be tall, and he was undeniably a little overweight. However, all this combined with his soft features and button nose to give him a rather cherubic appearance and there were few people who would refer to him as unattractive. 

Anathema handed Aziraphale his tea and his pastry in a bag and the man smiled and nodded. “Thank you kindly, Anathema, my dear girl.” She smiled at him, a little baffled at the endearment but as she presumed he was gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide, didn’t mind. “How’d you manage to pronounce it?” She asked. Her mother had named her not knowing what the word Anathema meant, but thought it to be a pretty name. While Anathema had not been grateful for the name when she was going through the American public school system, she now liked the vibe it gave off – kind of witchy, she thought. Aziraphale replied, “I’m a rare book dealer, you see.” She slightly furrowed her eyebrows at him and smiled, the kind of smile one would give when they have absolutely no idea how something someone has said is relevant at all but as they’re working in customer service they can’t question more. “Enjoy your drink.” She said, not knowing what else to say. He thanked her and left, pretending not to notice Crowley watching him through the glass part of the staff room door.

Crowley slunk out from behind the door and Anathema started laughing. “Have you been standing there listening right behind the door the whole time?” He gave her an exasperated look, still looking a little embarrassed. “I couldn’t hear much. The damn man speaks so softly. What’d he say?” Anathema laughed harder. “Your future boyfriend’s a rare book dealer and I don’t want to assume his sexuality, but I’ve never had a straight man call me dear. Maybe it’s just one of those things men who wear three piece suits say though, you’ll have to ask him.” He glared at her, with a slight blush. “I will never go on a date with a man who wears three-piece suits,” he said, sounding a lot like a man who would happily go on a date with a man who wears three-piece suits. She raised her eyebrows at him. “Of course not.” He swatted her and they returned to work, the rest of the day passing with more drinks being served to workers and the occasional tourist and every so often, Crowley’s thoughts returned to 1. his mortification and 2. the angelic looking man with his iced tea. 

There is one important thing to note about our angelic friend, the man who wears three-piece suits and whose name is Aziraphale, in the interest of both foreshadowing and understanding his character better. Despite the fact this man is gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide, something which is quite clear to him and most people around him, he was raised with the incorrect yet surprisingly widely-spread belief that homosexuality is wrong. This leads to Aziraphale only being able to flirt with men who he believes to have no real interest in him and running away when things become too serious. This may turn out to be relevant. If only he could conquer this fear, one could be sure that opportunities for love would magically appear for our dear friend. 

Aziraphale strolled (being very much the strolling sort of fellow, one would not be surprised to find him with an umbrella reenacting Singing In The Rain on the London streets) back to his bookstore, judging his lunch break to be well and truly over and flipped over the CLOSED sign to OPEN. 

After about an hour of reluctantly selling books to rich old book collectors who dressed in a similar way to him and feeling exceedingly happy when people entered the shop “just to browse”, presumably to keep cool in the abnormal summer heat but thankfully not to actually purchase any books, Aziraphale found himself smiling widely as a loud group of 4 young children entered the shop. They referred to themselves as the Them after years of many name changes and having been given the name by many disapproving shopkeepers in the area. Adam was the first to enter the shop, with the others following closely behind. “Hi, Mr. Aziraphale.” Adam grinned. The Them tended to stop by the shop for a few hours after they had left school to remark at the “wicked books” (though Wensleydale and Adam were the only ones who read the books, Pepper was far too busy fighting stupid boys and Brian was far too busy being fought) and generally mess about, playing whatever new game they’d thought of for the week. Aziraphale, unlike the rest of the shopkeepers on the street, didn’t discourage the gang of four from hanging around in his shop, as long as the books didn’t get damaged. He had to admit he enjoyed the company and a rowdy group of 11 year olds is a good deterrent against people wishing to buy rare books. 

He returned to his desk with a book and sat, thinking. Aziraphale thought about the man at the coffee shop – should he go back and try to talk to the man more? Or was that bordering on harassment, seeing as the man literally couldn’t leave the situation? He sighed, and resolved that he would return to the shop for another rather delicious iced tea but simply give a smile and a friendly greeting. It simply wasn’t the done thing to hit on baristas when they were at work and while seeing the man blush was ridiculously sweet, he wouldn’t want to cause him any discomfort. And there was no guarantee the man would be working the next time he went in anyway so really, Aziraphale thought, it wasn’t too questionable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was like,, give aziraphale internalised homophobia so there’s some kind of struggle,, but I feel so bad! I just want him to find love I’m mad at myself for creating this issue :// it feels so incredible that people have given this kudos and bookmarks, thank you so so much for reading my writing! you’re all wonderful <3
> 
> Also I’m writing small amounts quickly but will probably be writing small amounts very slowly soon due to who I am as a person


	3. Chapter 3

It was 1:48 on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and Aziraphale was a man on a mission. A mission to flirt with a barista while attempting to not make him uncomfortable. It was a perilous mission, but one Aziraphale was determined to give a go and then abandon at the first sign of difficulty. He was truly the man for the job. 

He attempted a march towards the coffee shop. He then felt self-conscious as he realised he looked a little foolish, and resumed a normal walk. Anathema and Crowley watched this with interest through the coffee shop windows. Anathema laughed, “He’s almost as much of a dork as you.” Crowley rolled his eyes at her but was too fixated on Aziraphale to return with a snarky comment. As Aziraphale pushed open the door and smiled at the two behind the counter, Anathema quickly grabbed the sign which stated “WE WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY KIND OF HARASSMENT TOWARDS OUR STAFF.” and placed it beneath the counter. 

Crowley, feeling that as he had embarrassed himself so much last time he’d encountered this angelic man he couldn’t do anything worse, was suddenly filled with a demonic confidence and gave Aziraphale a snakelike grin. Aziraphale completely forgot what his plan had been and blushed lightly. “May I tempt you to a drink, Aziraphale?” He flicked his tongue over his lips, looking Aziraphale dead in the eyes. Aziraphale blushed harder. “Why, yes, I suppose so! The delightful iced tea you gave me last time would be wonderful!” Crowley nodded and Anathema said, “I’ll make it, Crowley,” both wanting to help her friend and feeling deeply uncomfortable at witnessing this conversation that honestly seemed like a private moment and a prelude to Crowley jumping on the poor man. Aziraphale, now the shock had worn off and somewhat emboldened by the sudden interest Crowley was showing, gave a small sly smile. “However, I’d rather like to do some tempting of my own and ask you to dinner.” Now it was Crowley’s turn to blush. “Dinner does sound tempting, but not as tempting as you.” He said, and instantly regretted afterwards. What did that even mean? He’d really let his flirting skills get rusty. He then decided that if he was going to embarrass himself he would damn well do it in style and winked. Aziraphale beamed, his cheeks now the colour you would expect from a prize-winning pig at any respectable county show. He went to pay for his drink, and Crowley shook his head and grinned. “Free for you, angel.” He was riding a wave of both school-girl like shyness and an odd combination of horniness and flirtatiousness and it seemed that the odd combination, for now, was winning. Aziraphale’s cheeks turned the colour of pomegranates and he took the cup. “Oh, well, thank you, my dear!” With that, he hurried out. 

It may seem clear to a reader that while the two men had agreed to go to dinner with each other, they had completely failed to exchange contact details and arrange a time or place, but these two men were not that perceptive in this moment (or any moments before or after). Crowley spent 5 minutes and 12 seconds resting his head on his hands, with his elbows resting on the counter, looking both ecstatically happy and somewhat nonchalant, gazing out of the window. Anathema spent these 5 minutes and 12 seconds doing her job, cleaning tables and chatting to customers. When these 5 minutes and 12 seconds had passed, Crowley snapped out of his dreamlike state and swore loudly. “Shit! I forgot to give him my number.” Anathema, sensing she was needed, returned behind the counter. “I wrote your number on his cup, don’t worry. You haven’t lost your southern pansy yet.” He smiled gratefully at her and chuckled slightly. “Thank you. It’s like God’s heard all my complaints about the gay men in London and sent me the gayest man in England, possibly the world.” 

“WELL, LADDIE,” a voice boomed from across the counter. “Do ye tink instead of bein’ a southern pansy, ye ken git me a drank?” Shadwell thought it would be fantastic if the man who ran this coffee shop could find love because then the boy might stop all his demonic activities like wearing leather and driving vintage cars, but he’d stop supporting it if it meant he couldn’t get a decent cuppa. Crowley shrugged. “I’ll get your tea, Sergeant, but I’m afraid being a southern pansy is very time consuming. I’ll have to multitask, I suppose.” Shadwell did not laugh. He just wanted his tea. However, a high pitched giggle came from behind the elderly man; Crowley’s skills of perception were much worse than he had thought. He’d have to get an eye test soon because his prescription was obviously not high enough. “Tracy! It’s good to see you!” Anathema said. Shadwell smiled a little too. “Afternoon, Jezebel.”

Madame Tracy, as previously mentioned, was Crowley’s business partner. She also offered discrete “intimate care and relaxation” services for the discerning gentleman on her days off, apart from Thursdays when her and Anathema hosted a séance and tarot card readings. Anathema provided the genuine psychic talent and Tracy provided the dramatic flair. Madame Tracy was written down as Marjorie Potts on the lease but Crowley, as the only person who knew of this, was not in a position to judge her for changing her name to add mystery. 

“What’s been going on then? Has your handsome gentleman finally come to ask you on a date?” She asked. Crowley looked a little bemused, “How did you know about the ‘handsome gentleman’?” Anathema smiled knowingly, and a little guiltily. “I told her at the last séance.” Crowley shook his head. “Okay, he came in to ask me for dinner. And then I forgot to get his number, but the universe sorted it out.” Anathema raised an eyebrow at him, and he coughed and laughed. “Sorry, I meant Anathema sorted it out. Same thing, clearly.” Tracy sighed wistfully and said, “You better let us all know how it goes. We’ve both been single long enough, and at least you’ve got a chance at love. We’re all rooting for you.” Crowley gave her a genuine, slightly concerned smile. “It’s not too late for you, Madame T.” She shook her head. “Get back to work, there’ll be a line.” There was no line but this was clearly not an issue that Tracy wanted to discuss and Crowley let it go for the moment. 

No one noticed that at the moment Madame Tracy dismissed her chances of finding love, Shadwell looked momentarily heartbroken.

As he made his way home on the Tube that night to his flat (not all independent business owners can find affordable yet stylish accommodation in central Soho), Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about Aziraphale. He hoped it’d work out – things always seemed to work out in the end for the best, but at the same time he knew that tempting fate was probably not what he wanted to be doing. Walking along the street, he thought about how the man had flushed when he had called him angel and putting the key in his lock, he thought about how he had promised dinner at some point. Crowley hoped it would be soon. When he kicked his shoes off and draped himself on his sofa (he thought he looked rather elegant but if there were any bystanders they would tell you that he looked more like a pile of limbs) he thought about the text alert he had just heard. He rummaged in his pocket and found his phone, which flashed with a text notification. 

The text read, “Hello, it’s Aziraphale. I would love to tempt you to some sushi whenever you’re available. Please let me know at your earliest convenience. Aziraphale.” Crowley looked at the text, half in disbelief that real human beings texted in that way, and half in a desperate attempt to think up a response that was suitably flirty and not completely mortifying. 

Crowley: sounds good ;) very tempting, im free tmw night? x   
Aziraphale: Wonderful! I’ll come and pick you up at 7:30pm from your flat. Aziraphale.  
Crowley: im not going to forget ur name angel you don’t have to sign off every text x  
Aziraphale: It’s the courteous thing to do. M. Aziraphale.  
Crowley: didn’t have you down as someone who cares about courtesy too much ;) see you tmw x   
Aziraphale: It’s good to be polite, my dear! Aziraphale.   
Crowley: whatever x  
Aziraphale: Whatever yourself. Aziraphale.  
Crowley: whatever x  
Aziraphale: Whatever to you too. Aziraphale.  
Crowley: i can say whatever for a long time and i don’t have to sign out my name each time xox   
\- 5 minutes later -  
Crowley: im kidding x  
Aziraphale: Whatever ;) Aziraphale.  
Crowley: r u flirting with me? shocking, a winky face from a man of your calibre x  
Aziraphale: I can stop flirting if it makes you uncomfortable. Aziraphale.  
Crowley: ok angel no one asked for that keep it up now x  
Aziraphale: Good things come to those who wait. Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale put his phone down and flushed slightly. He was at once both completely terrified and excited and didn’t know what to do, but sleeping was clearly not on the cards. He went downstairs into the dark shop, picked up a book at random and started reading. The book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, but Aziraphale chose to not read too much into it. It wasn’t like the bookshop knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the characterisation flies away a little bit more everytime i write a chapter,,, incredible,,, why have aziraphale being a sex god or a dork when you could badly mix two tropes together. also crowley doesn’t sound like crowley any more because he’s pretty much a self insert now, sorry xox
> 
> there’s been a heatwave for the last two days in the UK so some of this is absolute nonsense because i could not function, but i’m going to be doing things in my life so quickly banged this one out and might commit to weekly updates from now on! 
> 
> once again thank you so so much for reading this self-indulgent nonsense, it means the world ❤️


End file.
